Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

dark-tanned hands to Natterman, nodded politely, then embraced Stern as

if they hadn't seen the older man for many months.

"Aaron," said Stern, ',yosef-this is Professor Natterman of the Free

university of Berlin."

The young men nodded courteously, but said nothing.

Both appeared to be about Gadi's age, if not younger, and both carried

canvas OVERNIGHT bags. Stern began walking down the concourse toward a

row of expensive restaurants, talking quietly to his nephew as he moved.

Natterman tried to keep close enough to the pair to overhear their

conversation. Aaron and Yosef padded along behind at a discreet

distance. Stern finally turned into a restaurant styled after a French

cafe-the only One open at this hour. He waved away a bald waiter who

started toward them with a sheaf of menus.

"What about the plane, Gadi?" he asked in Hebrew. "How long?"

"You won't believe this, Uncle, but a fliiht leaves for Johannesburg in

ninety minutes."

" 'Siz bashert, " Stern breathed. "it is meant to be. Nonstop?"

"One stopover. Athens."

"Good enough." rpri ki ht to "You don't seem su sed, Uncle. Luc ng

into a flig

South Africa on,such short notice? I couldn't believe it."

"It wasn't luck, Gadi. I called an old friend of mine in the air force

and requested a bit of creative rescheduling."

"You're kidding. They can do that?"

"I really wasn't sure. My faith in mankind is renewed."

Gadi laughed infectiously. "It's very good to se@ you again, Uncle.

Traveling first class, as usual?"

Professor Natterman could contain himself no longer. As far as he was

concerned, the conversation had taken a sudden turn into outer space.

"Stern, " he interrupted. "Would you please tell me why we are sitting

here in this godforsaken airport while my granddaughter is in mortal

danger in South Africa?"

Stern switched back to German. "Professor, your manners leave quite a

bit to be desired. However, I do appreciate your motive. In ninety

minutes we board an El Al flight to Johannesburg, from whence we shall

begin our search for your granddaughter. We are only one day behind

Hauer and Apfel, and we know the time and location of their rendezvous

with the kidnappers. The Burgerspark Hotel at eight tomorrow night,

remember? And remember this also: that our interests happen to coincide

is for you a lucky twist of fate.

For me that remains to be seen."

The Israeli's words infuriated Natterman, but since he imew Stern could

simply abandon him in the airport, he decided to remain silent.

"Now," said Stern, "I suggest we all have something to eat. I expect

everyone to sleep during the flight. Once we land in South Africa, we

won't have much time for it." He summoned the waiter with a flick of

his eyes. Everyone took one of the flimsy paper menus.

"Cheer up, Professor," Stern said. "You and Gadi should have quite a

lot to talk about. He took his degree in history just last year."

"Really?" said Natterman. "He looks more like a soldier than a scholar

to me."

Gadi stiffened.

"You have a good eye, Professor," Stern said, gending his nephew with a

quick glance. "You may prove to be more Of an asset than I thought."

Four tables away sat an expensively dressed woman with blue-rinsed hair.

She looked dun for her age-which could have been anywhere between fifty

and sixty-and she was obviously not an Israeli. A Louis Vuitton handbag

lay or table.

Beside it stood a glass -of orange juice. When the waiter inquired if

the woman would like to order some food, she politely declined. Her

voice was pitched low, but the waiter thought it very pleasant. In the

babel of the Mideast, there was nothing like a crisp British accent to

tickle the ear.

When the woman smiled, the waiter thought the smile was for him, but he

was wrong. It was for Jonas Stern.

Swallow had acquired her target.

225 A.M. Jon Smuts Airpoll, Johannesbarg

The taxi was a small, clapped-out Ford. It stood out sharply from the

short line of Rovers and Mazdas, which were mostly new and owned by the

same two taxi companies.

Hauer chose a taxi over the shuttle bus because he wanted speed and

privacy. The forty-mile taxi ride to Pretoria would be outrageously

expensive, but money was the least of their worries. He chose the old

Ford because he wanted a driver with some character-an entrepreneur.

"English?" the driver asked with a strong Indian accent.

"Swiss," Hauer replied.

The driver switched to a strange but fluent German. Oddly enough, the

Teutonic consonants did not prevent the dark ypung man from speaking

with the singsong inflection of his native country. "And where do you

wish to go?" he crooned.

"You speak German?" Hauer said, surprised.

"Most happily, yes. Taught to me by a cousin on my mother's side.

His father was a houseboy to the German ambassador in New Delhi.

He knew the language well and I picked it up quite easily when they

moved back to Calcutta.

I pick up all languages easily. A wonderful aid in my humble profession

. .

Hans sank back into the Ford's rear seat and listened to the Indian's

spiel, luxuriating in the stability of the automobile.

"Listen," Hauer said, breaking the Indian's flow, "we need to get to

Pretoria. My son and I are stockbrokers.

We've come to South Africa to do a little business, but also to have a

little fun, you understand?"

"Most certainly, sir," said the driver, sensing the possibility of a

generous tip.

"For this reason we'd like you to take us to a somewhat cheaper

establishment than you might expect-a fleabag, one might say."

"I understand perfectly, sir," the driver assured him, appraising Hauer

in the rearview mirror.

"Then drive," said Hauer. "And keep your eyes on the road."

The Ford jumped to life and joined the stream of taxis moving out of the

airport like a line of beetles.

"Salil is my name," the Indian sang out. "At your service."

Hauer said nothing.

"Sir?" Salil tried again.

"What is it?"

"I believe I understand your requirements perfectly. But might I

suggest that for gentlemen such as yourselves, a fleabag-as you so

accurately call it-might be just the type of place where you are most

quickly noticed? Why not one of the higher-priced hotels? If you have

the money, of course. You would blend right in, and no one would think

of asking questions. Privacy is at a premium in such places."

Hauer considered this. "Any suggestions?" he asked, liking the idea

better the more -he thought about it.

"The Burgerspark is an excellent hotel."

Hans jumped as if struck physically.

"Where else?" Hauer asked quickly.

"The Flfotea Hof is also a fine hotel, sir." Salil glanced furtively at

his rearview mirror.

"The Protea Hof it is."

While the taxi sped northward, Hauer peered out at the ultramodern

skyline of Johannesburg, the City of Gold. Dozens of brightly lit

skyscrapers towered above a dense network of elevated freeways.

Compared to this futuristic metropolis West Berlin looked like a sooty

hand-me-down.

South Africa looked nothing like what Hauer had expected.

Already he sensed the change in altitude, the huge expanses of space

around him.

"Sir?" Salil said, catching Hauer's eye in the rearview mirror.

"Yes?"

"Would you be interested to know that someone is following us?"

Hauer clutched Hans's shoulder to keep him from turning. "Any idea who